


bountiful

by Pandolphin



Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: Body Worship, Cunnilingus, F/M, Faris Drinks His Respect Women Juice, If you want to get technical, Overly Poetic Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Game, Water Sex, kind of, no spoilers tho, that's the jist of it, there's ONE (1) throwaway line that implies luminerik but that's it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23403286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandolphin/pseuds/Pandolphin
Summary: He could do with being braver, certainly. How much he has to protect has weighed on him much of his life, scared him into inaction. It is a miracle Gemma does not hold his past cowardice against him, and that is a more than worthy cause for him to better himself. If not for his kingdom, then for her. Gemma, of all people, should not have to settle for a craven as a husband.In fact, she does not settle for most anything.
Relationships: Prince Faris/Emma | Gemma
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	bountiful

**Author's Note:**

> this began as a word prompt from about 3 or so months ago, but I liked it so much that it just sort of. turned into this! I dunno where this falls exactly in the Panda Quest 11 Cinematic Universe, but it's somewhere in the years post-game
> 
> the poem at the beginning is by the Persian poet Sa'di, as translated by Homa Katouzian in the book _Sa'di In Love_

****

**Like a flower I shall embrace your love  
** **And switch off the light of reason.**  
**I shall place my head between your breasts,**  
**And drink love from the scent of your body.**

****

**~**

Gemma truly is a woman of the country, Faris notes. Her long hair flows like fields of wheat; her skin smells of sunflowers, and her hands are coarse and warm from farm and needlework. It was as such the day they met, and such is true even now–a life of luxury in the palace has not changed her from the visage of prosperity and bounty that Faris regarded her as long before, and for that, he is grateful. 

She notices the way he pauses, combing through her hair; one golden lock slips through his fingers as she turns to face him. “Faris? Is somethin’ wrong?” 

“Ah–” He coughs once, awkwardly, and returns to his combing, faster and more flustered than before. It’s a bit odd, he supposes, to find himself bashful now. This is far from the first time he’s seen her, all of her, or her all of him, for she is his wife and queen to be--but such moments of intimacy had happened behind closed doors, within the palace walls, away from prying eyes. Not in a desert oasis. But Gemma opened his eyes to new things everyday–things mundane to her, no doubt, but Faris knew he still had many things to learn about the world, and he had the most excellent teacher. “My apologies.” 

“What’re you sorry for?” Gemma laughs in her usual manner, caught somewhere between dainty and boisterous but all parts lovely. “It’s just a bit strange to have you so quiet, is all. You were talkin’ up a right storm about Lady Frysabel a second ago.” 

“Yes… yes, I was.” They had been talking just then about childhood. Faris spoke of visits to his cousin in the north, and how they spent time huddled near the fireplace while Frysabel read him grand fairy tales, and Gemma in turn had mentioned that this was something she used to do with Nova as children in the river of their village. Skinny-dipping, rather, not bathing, but the core concept remained. And that, of all things, had given him pause. 

Faris knows he is not the most clever of men. He can admit that. And certainly, for as many qualities as he has over Nova, he knows Nova holds just as many, if not more, over him. And Nova is his friend, and he does not hold any misgivings to him in the slightest–but it still strikes him, every now and then, just how much might have changed had the human heart not been as malleable as it was. 

(Sometimes he thinks he should thank Erik for inadvertently sending him this good fortune, but he thinks against it every time.) 

“Faris?” 

Gemma speaks up again, voice clear and crisp like a harvest moon night, and Faris smiles, and sets the comb aside. Instead of answering her with words, he parts her hair, and traces a line up along her back. Even with skin as soft as gossamer, the toned shape of her muscles ripple beneath his touch–and Gemma squeaks and shivers against him, and he laughs. 

“I suppose–” He says, hand trailing up her back, and when his fingertips reach the base of her neck, he replaces them with his lips, feather light. “–I was lost in the thought of how lucky I am to be here.” His arms wrap around her bare waist, and his chin comes to rest on her shoulder. “And of how daring you are, milady.” 

Gemma giggles again, close to almost a delighted squeal, and she leans her head against his. “I reckon it _would_ be a sight, seeing a crown prince like this with some country girl in a river.” 

“It would, yes.” Another kiss, this time to Gemma’s cheek. Anything to make her smile and blush in his arms like this. “But again, I would be so lucky! For you are not “some country girl”. A queen so bold will be much beloved by all Gallopolis, I know.” 

“Oh, hush, you! I’ve got nothin’ to hide, is all.” 

She takes one of Faris’ hands from her waist, and slides it up her stomach, letting it curve around one breast. “Least of all from you.” 

Again, he supposes, he should be used to such surprises. But why would he want to be, when his shock makes Gemma laugh so, playful and mischievous? How bold, indeed. 

“Ah–yes. W-Well.” Faris stammers, but he squeezes the mound in his hand once, and Gemma sighs against him, and leans into his chest. “If that is the case… then I can hide nothing from _you_ , either.” 

He could do with being braver, certainly. How much he has to protect has weighed on him much of his life, scared him into inaction. It is a miracle Gemma does not hold his past cowardice against him, and that is a more than worthy cause for him to better himself. If not for his kingdom, then for her. Gemma, of all people, should not have to settle for a craven as a husband. 

In fact, she does not settle for most anything. 

It is impossible for either of them to ignore the growing tension in the air, between soft mewls and huffs of air. They could stop here--and for many reasons, perhaps they should, but Gemma is not someone that lets her goals pass her by. So lost is Faris, in the feel of her skin and her heart in his hand, that he almost forgets this truth, and is only reminded when she presses back against him. Him, and his growing lust. 

He shudders, but holds his ground. Somewhere hiding within him is the soul of a true knight, and he’s yet to bring that part of him to light in full. But what he has grasped instead was the soul of a lover, and a lover knows that chivalry comes in many forms. 

“No, please.” He kisses at her neck, pleased with how she stops to revel in the feel. “I would tend to you, here and now.” 

“Ahh… but you…” 

“Another time.” He guides one hand between her legs, and a sigh pushes past her lips, like a bubble in bliss. “This is far more important.” 

“Y-Yer too good t’me.” She squirms and writhes in delight, into his fingers. “I’ll make it up t’ you, I swear.” 

It is a promise she does not need to fulfill, let alone make. She owes him nothing, has never owed him anything, and how can Faris ever ask for more than she has already given him? But Gemma gives and gives regardless, deaf to his insistence, and he cannot turn away from the bounty she chooses to share with him. 

She moans under his touch, gentle and sweeter than any song he knew. But like a song, and like all things she does, Faris wants to sing with her. His hand on her breast leaves its peak and travels up Gemma’s body, cradling her neck and turning her chin back to face him. The angle is hardly perfect, but Faris can see her half-lidded eyes and pink lips parted so prettily, inviting him to join her song. 

And so he does. 

It is impossible to say who kissed who first, only that suddenly, it happens. It happens, and the moment feels as though it lasts a lifetime. His fingers trace the divots of her cheek. Her hands dance along his thigh. They’ve done this before, yes, but no matter how many times Faris holds her like this, he cannot help but feel elated. If nirvana is found in the body of a lover, then he is more transcendent than even the finest monks of Angri-La. 

To touch her can only make him feel as though he is breathing for the first time. As though he is at last human. 

But this is only the least of what he can do for her. To her. With her. And it is with reluctance that Faris pulls himself away from her mouth and stills his hand against her folds, but Gemma must be back on the earth before he can go any further. 

When her senses return to her, he asks, “Would milady grant me the honor?” 

Gemma manages a pout at him. “Y’don’t have to ask every time.” 

“But I must.” He will not continue, cannot continue without her blessing. It’s only correct, of course, but every time she says ‘yes’ thrills him, and so fortunate was he to be able to hear it from her again and again and again. ”How else will I know?” 

She tests his question, and rises to her feet from her seat between his legs. Oh, Gemma is beautiful in her fullness, and Faris almost loses himself as he takes in the sight of her. But he catches himself, and her by her hips, before she can seat herself on the bank of the oasis. “Please. If I may.” 

Gemma gives him a curious look at best, “I--alright?”, but she relents, and Faris guides her down, back into the water, her now in his seat and he knelt before her. He kisses her lips again, long and slow and far more rewarding, but he does not stay there long. Only long enough for her to shudder again before he begins his trek downward, on her neck, her shoulders, between her breasts and leaving what offerings he can give all the while. Every inch of her is beautiful, and Faris intends to savor each glance. 

His hands travel from her hips to her thighs, parting them once more, and when Faris looks to Gemma for her favor, he finds her looking back at him, perplexed but awaiting his every move. It strikes a light within him, and he backs away, inhaling deep, before he vanishes beneath the water’s edge. 

Knights of every realm have unique aspects to their training. Those of Heliodor learn the code in Puerto Valor, while Dundrasilian princes spend adolescence in Angri-La. Sniflheim wards hone body and mind in frigid cold and tomes of the ancients, and Gallopolitan men learn the ways of the desert, how to adapt to its sweltering heat, and protect themselves in the midst of turbulent sandstorms when the air they breathe only serves to strangle the unprepared. 

Suffice to say, Faris has considerable lung capacity. Even without taking his deepest breath, he is more than able to dedicate himself to the task at hand, for as long as Gemma sees fit of him. And there are few actions of piety more blissful than to worship his lover between the apex of her thighs. 

He drinks deeply of her like he has never known a life without thirst; the dull sound of splashes echo near his head, and suddenly Gemma’s hands are fisted in his hair, pulling him against her as close as he can be. He supposes this might look strange from an outside perspective, a beautiful woman rolling in an oasis pool with her phantom lover. He wishes he could hear her, see her, but so long as he might still feel and taste her, then that will be enough for now. 

He will not stop, cannot stop until she has had her fill. 

A blissful eternity passes, and suddenly Gemma’s hands tug at his hair in silent command: _Come up_. And he follows the order without question. He barely breaches the water’s surface before her hands move from his hair to his cheeks, and Faris lets himself be pulled to Gemma’s mouth, meeting her lips open and eager with his own. And he will not move, cannot move away until she is satisfied. 

She pulls away, breathless, and he murmurs against her, “Is it too much?” 

“No.” So close are their lips that Gemma may as well have been speaking, panting into his mouth. “But I wanna see you.” 

“If you wish it.” And she does, and it is so clearly written in her eyes that Faris cannot help but kiss her again as he lifts her from the water, onto the lush green grass that surrounds them, encases them in this pocket away from the world. He continues to kiss her, rises with her, and lays her down beneath the desert sun. 

Gemma sparkles in the sunlight, flushed and radiant, and grass and flowers frame her as though she is the one that made them bloom. As far as Faris is concerned, she is. 

He takes his time again with the journey to her legs. It feels only necessary now, now that he can hear her every moan and whimper, see her every jolt of pleasure, indulge in her every gasp of his name followed by “more” and “please” and “yes”. It rouses him as well, so close to the pain, but he pays himself no mind. _All in due time_ , Faris tells himself, but the thought does him little good when he guides Gemma’s legs over his shoulders, and presses him between her thighs. 

There are far worse ways to die, he supposes. 

His hands slide down her body; with one he takes hold of her hip, and with the other he takes hold of himself. His mouth is on her once again, and now on land it’s all too plain to see and feel how far gone she is. There is no resistance when he presses his tongue against her slick, and no restraint from Gemma as she pants and gasps and rocks her hips against his mouth. Faris accepts her offer gladly, dragging his tongue against her while he drags his hand against himself. 

Her hands grace the ends of his hair for a short while, but they fall away nearly as soon as they arrive, and Faris opens his eyes to look at her. There is a definite fear that something may be wrong, that it may be too much after all, but his fears are quickly sated watching Gemma writhe and keen, watching her hands grasp helplessly at the grass by her head, watching her bite her lip while she fights back a sob. She is, as she always had been, absolutely sublime; desert flowers bow and beg her pardon, the sun beats down jealous of her heat, and Faris revels in the beauty of her bliss day in and day out. 

“Faris…” She cries out his name so softly, so sweetly, and that is all it takes to undo him. 

He spills over his hand with little fanfare, and the water carries it away, but he will not stop, cannot stop there. He refuses to. Now with both hands, he grasps at Gemma’s hips and lifts her from the ground, his mouth covering her in full. Her cries are now just short of wails, and tears now prick at her eyes, and she does nothing to force any of it back. This too is but another gift she gives him, one more piece of her bounty to sup upon, and Faris devours what she has chosen to share with him. 

Gemma stills beneath him, back arched and mouth caught open in a soundless cry. Euphoria passes as quickly as it comes, and she goes lax, spent and blissed out and perfect. 

Faris lowers her carefully, swollen hips and core breaching the water once again, and she gasps faintly in surprise and relief, looking up at him with bleary eyes and a tender smile. He has the good sense to wipe his mouth before gathering Gemma into his arms and kissing her, slow and languid, but he doubts it would have made much a difference to her if he hadn’t. 

Her arms wrap around his neck and his hands fall on her back and into her hair, to press her as close as two people can be. He’s drunk of her more than once by now, a more intoxicating wine than man could ever know, but each time is more addicting than the last. 

His hand, the one combing through her tresses, catches something, and Gemma pulls back with a small jolt and wince. Faris, for his part, also backs away as far as needed, taking the offending hand with him. “I’m sorry--did that hurt you?” 

“No,” and as Gemma feels at her head, and as Faris notes all the tangles her passion has caused, she laughs, “but you just brushed that all out.” 

Her meaning doesn’t strike him at first--but when it does, he’s laughing with her, at himself, at them, at this. “Then I must make amends right away.” 

Faris reaches for the comb, laying forgotten on the bank with their belongings, and reaches for a lock of hair that frames Gemma’s face, fingers just barely grazing her cheek. “If milady would grant me the honor?” 

This time, Gemma voices her thoughts with a roll of the eye, and a grin. “I told you, y’ don’t have to ask every time.” 

“Oh,” Faris says, because he will ask, can ask, “but I must.” 

**Author's Note:**

> gotta be honest with you, I don't know if there's an audience for this, but sometimes you just gotta write some flowery lovin'.
> 
> if you enjoyed this, please leave a comment/kudos! ~~because I am not confident writing anything spicy and I crave validation!~~ you can also find me on tumblr on my dq blog swindlersstole and I WILL talk about faremma given any opportunity


End file.
